Love that comes between the naivete and awakening of youth satisfies itself with possessing, and grows with embraces. But Love which is born in the firmament's lap and has descended with the night's secrets is not contented with anything but eternity and immortality.
And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words.
Love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself, Love possesses not nor would it be possessed: For love is sufficient unto love.
You cannot laugh and be unkind at the same time.
Do not limp before the lame, deeming it a kindness.